by JR King
“It’s a bastardized version of the chicken potpie. I hope you like pheasant’s escalope?” Tony said to Sara.
I handed small plates to Michael, who served us delicious little things. Conversation centered on Sara’s new job and how I was progressing at work. I was hyperalert of my dress. Each time I shrugged my shoulders or reached for my flute, my breasts slightly bobbled and the halter-top moved, so occasionally I had to check if my chest was covered well. Whether by design or coincidence, and I think it’s the former, Tony had positioned the plate of charcuterie in front of me, requesting tiny servings every so often.
I picked at a savory palmier, a question chittering around in my mind. “Guys, what are we having for dinner?”
“Special order for mah special ladiez,” Michael disclosed furtively.
Tony’s smile was slow and staggered. “We never do things cheap, and always do them big.”
Sara and I rolled our eyes at the catchphrase.
The sun had begun its slow descent into the southwestern sky. We all watched as the sky unfolded into the color of a fading welt, turned into the rich shade of a bruise, then disappeared into russets as evening drew nigh.
The dining room glowed in the warm light of the early evening. Indeed, the table was set for a large family. Piled with mussels-in-shell, oysters Kilpatrick, pan-fried scallops, and miles of langoustines. The setting was more bodacious than basic. A shimmery eggplant-colored linen tied together the massive yellow and orange rose centerpiece with ivory china and silver-rimmed glassware.
Eyeing the electric soup kettle, I grabbed the heat resistant mitt and held up the lid. Puy lentils had attained a good simmer, absorbing the flavor of the pork shank that’d been added to them. I sniffed the sizzling fragrance of the stream, which earned me a lousy smack on my behind.
“Don’t contaminate the food,” Tony teased.
By the time Sara and I finished washing our hands, food was being plated. Michael lit candles and Tony played waiter, spooning delicate portions onto our plates.
Michael shed light on the choice of the dishes. “El, this is the dish Sara and I had in one of the locavore eateries in Saratoga. Pan-fried scallops on a bed of spicy, organic lentils. And the seafood orgy is something Alex and Tony had in Australia. Lizard Island or Whitehaven or whatever.”
“Lizard Island, Queensland, buttercup,” Tony intoned.
“What is this?” As much as I wanted to roll my eyes again, I didn’t. “A trip down memory lane?”
Holding her hand to her heart, Sara caved in to their charm. “Aw, you guys. Brownie points.”
“I think they’re sharing the other bedroom tonight,” I told her.
Tony cocked a grin. “Ooh lala. I’m so in love with Michael.”
“You said it, another notch on my belt,” Michael added with upturned eyebrow.
The chuckles among us lulled as we all tucked into the food.
It was delicious. The scallops were perfectly cooked, and the addition of spicy, meat-soaked organic lentils was just right for the delicate, buttery chair of the shellfish. And the kick of spiciness filleted my taste buds with the precision of a titanium alloy blade. Throughout the stratum of spices, I detected cumin, turmeric, coriander, and paprika in the lentils, and the scallops were pasted with a mixture of clarified butter and chili flakes. The pesto-grilled langoustine was my favorite dish, the dry whisper of wine on the juicy flesh knocked it out of the park. I was careful not to make any noise whenever I sucked the sweet juices from the head. The men around the table weren’t. Each time Michael sucked, I watched him lick the juices from his lips. It was wonderfully normal and sexy.
Sara and I didn’t want the dinner to end, so we took small helpings. Before I knew it, Michael was opening up a third bottle of Chablis. I didn’t count or care how much I was drinking, no Alexander meant no sex. Because of the candles, a dusky smell filled the room, and through one of the many dining room windows, I saw the full moon.
Gallant, attentive, and thoughtful as the guys were, it was hard to resist the plate of artfully arranged dessert Michael put in front of me. The attention of detail paid to the plating of the caramel topped Boston Ice Cream Pie was heartwarming. The caramel had been drizzled over the slice in concentric circles along with dollops of whipped cream. The lines had been worked over with a fork, feathering it all outward, and a light dusting of gold colored powder sugar capped it off.
Tony asked me, “Sweetheart, were you low on sugar?” Candlelight limned his face, and the blue of my eyes swam in the grey of his.
“That’s how we all met, Tony. Some fucker took her Kinder surprise egg, and Michael went bananas. Playing our father,” clarified Sara.
“Someone had to help the little ones,” Michael muttered.
We had smokes afterward, and danced to Jazz music. Tony had his own suite at the hotel, so no one was in a hurry. To complete the meal, the kitchen sent over deconstructed chocolate éclairs and peppermint tisanes. The four of us drank and ate our late-night snacks in silence, which was sometimes interrupted by the tinkle of spoons against glass ramekins.
“I’m super full.” Tony dropped his dessertspoon on the saucer of his cup. Throwing down his napkin, he flew out of his chair and took a last swallow of the water left in his glass. “Mr. Sandman is waiting.”
I shoved the last bit of my éclair into my mouth, licking my dessertspoon, and asked to be let off from the table.
Michael and Sara spent the evening together.
God, she can be so loud.
Elena Anderson
The Extremely Angry Man
In the morning, Tony was waiting for me on the terrace. I followed the path of his eyes, watching doves fly past in swath.
I said, “I’m all packed and ready to go.”
He tore his eyes from the sky to look me in the eyes. “Did something happen with Alex? He’s not fielding my calls. I need him to head some loutish investors off at the pass.”
“He was going to play poker with some old friends. Tired, undoubtedly.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, his broad shoulders bulging beneath his oxford shirt. “Going MIA is very unlike him. Did you wrong him? That type of thing would drive him to switch off his phone.”
Caught red-handed. The susurrus of the morning breeze made me twitch like a hooked fish. I felt the guilt and fear start to form in my chest even before the words had left my mouth. Tremors wracked my body, I was too afraid to look up at Tony. “I haven’t,” my voice was ragged due to the parchedness of the whole length of my gullet, “wronged him.”
“Time will tell. We’ll try again from the plane.”
His coarse tone immobilized me.
“It’s about the bank, isn’t it?”
Gingerly, I nodded. Then I sank to the floor and leaned back against the railing.
He crouched. “Who is in trouble here?”
“I am.”
I kept trying Alexander’s cell, and it kept going to voicemail. It was personalized, saying he’d phone back later. Whenever I called, he always picked up or phoned right back. It’d been hours, and I’d left several messages, yet he hadn’t phoned back. Word to the wise, even if you’ve taken precautions as much as necessary, never expect to succeed in tricking a powerful man.
Mentally fatigued of landing myself in deep water, I fell asleep after Tony dropped me off at home. It wasn’t long before I gasped, panic flooding me. In the early afternoon light, I spotted Alexander across the room, sitting in an armchair. He wore a tuxedo, the black barathea bow tie and a few shirt buttons loosened. His right leg was crossed at the ankle over his other knee. One hand draped over the armrest, it held a cut-glass whiskey tumbler, filled to a third, and the other hand was propped on the other armrest. His thumb supported his chin, his forefinger running back and forth over his lower lip.
Gird up the loins of your mind. “Alex?” I attempted.
His voice was hushed when he spoke. “Go back to sleep, Elena. Please don’t try to wa
ke up. I’m unsafe company right now.” He tossed back the remainder of his early evening drink and placed the glass on the side table.
Pretending to balk, I chewed the edge of my lower lip. “You’re back early.”
“It would appear so.” His tone, however quiet, packed more punch than an atom bomb.
“Why’d you come back earlier than expected? Why are you so formally dressed?”
“I skipped a Democratic Party Luncheon Fundraiser. Sleep, Elena. I don’t want to hurt you. You don’t want to get hurt, do you? It’s not safe for you.”
My pulse leapt up and popped. I felt anger in the clench of my jaw, and saw it in the white of my knuckles. I wasn’t going to back down. “How’d you find out? Michael would never rat me out.” I paused for dramatic effect, massaging my temples. “Did you have me followed?”
He kept his mouth clamped shut, unwilling to admit anything. One thing I knew for sure is that he wouldn’t sack Michael. Alexander valued loyalty above all else.
“Alex, you’re making this situation far more complicated than it needs to be.”
“Michael’s no sell out, that’s why I keep him around. The bank contacted Christopher. He gave them permission to show you the videotape, you fool.”
As the words registered, I felt the mental fog lifting, leaving me just as cold as he looked. I was a lot of things, and had accordingly been called a lot of things. All these years, never a fool, though, by anyone. I pulled myself up into a seating position, not taking my eyes off Alexander. “I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad.”
He squinted at me, as if considering whether or not to make a reply. “Mad isn’t correct; I’m way, way beyond mad. I’m seething, burning with rage, and there’s only one way I deal with this type of anger. Elena, you should have thought about the consequences before starting this investigation.”
I stretched my jaw. “It’s not an investigation. You’re not the only one who’s burning with rage, you know. Daddy wouldn’t just forget to put evidence in the safe deposit box, so I thought maybe Christopher…I had to clear my conscience.” His brow crinkled fractionally, confirming he wasn’t expecting me to stand up for my father. “Now I know daddy made yet another flub.”
I got out from underneath the covers and went to him, taking him by surprise as I awkwardly climbed into his lap. I feared he’d push me away or shout at me, but he did none of these things.
I stared into his eyes, searching. A destructive tornado of grey hit me, obliterating my ability to move. Christ, the sexual energy laced with dominance rolled off him like tidal waves, and though my heartbeat shouldn’t quicken at the thought of him owning me, it did. He had every right to do with me as he saw fit.
“Get comfortable,” he instructed, his full lips reminding me of the terrible and wonderful things they could do to me. The dark look in his eyes was chased away by a penitent glimmer, so I curled up happily against him.
After a moment of awkward silence, he murmured, “I want to punish you good. Flog the ever-living daylights out of you. Really beat the shit out of you with every whip I can lay my hands on.”
“I know. But I also know you won’t do it.”
A minute of pure, hard silence passed before he asked, “Why not?”
I wrapped my arms around his neck and nuzzled his throat. “You like me.”
He waited a bit before folding his arms about me and burying his nose in my hair, finally giving me the hug I craved. “Like isn’t correct either, kitten. I’m way, way beyond liking you.”
I nipped at his throat and giggled. “Way, way beyond liking? What does that mean? There must be an appropriate word drafted for this in the English language, no?”
“Don’t try to charm me.” He sighed, closed his eyes and added, “I’m still angry at you.” He leaned into my kiss on his temple but didn’t make a move to reciprocate.
“There are times when I think I might hurt you,” he went on in monotone, his dark eyebrows drawn together. “Times when I think I won’t control myself.”
“Like in your fantasies?”
A slow, uneven smirk was his reply. “I don’t fantasize about violence and women together. Separately. This isn’t a fantasy, or alike it. This is something you bring out in me. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with…a young girl like you.”
“Well,” I offered, shrugging. “You know what it’s like. Love is like fire and the measles.”
He nodded. “It spreads and consumes you, scarring you for life. That’s what I’d like to do right now.” In my lexicon of words, abhorred was the word that applied to this uncaring pitch of his voice, it was worse than his business-like tone. It offered no clue as to what his reaction might be as to any answer I might give.
“Scar me?”
“Yes,” he curtly replied, as if testing the word, weighing up the meaning. “Your beauty.”
I gulped visibly.
“When Devdas comments on Paro’s beauty, pure like the moon, then decides it’s too perfect and scars her so that every time she looks at that scar she thinks of him, that’s what I feel like doing. Not a farewell gift, I want to give you a welcome gift to remember me by when you look at your body.”
“Don’t do it.” My mouth was so full of saliva I nearly choked on it.
“I said I want to. Doesn’t mean I’ll fly off the handle. At least, not today. I’m a dangerous man, Elena, which is something you seem to have forgotten.” He started tracing the family seal of his signet ring with his thumb. “I’m crazy in love with you—trying to be fun as you please, but make no mistake, I give ground because I wish it to be so. When it comes to my family, especially Christopher, stay away from them. He’s relentless like my father, and I wouldn’t dream of stopping him.”
“I must apologize to him,” I urged him on with a sultry voice.
The corners of his eyes crinkled. “He’s coming over for drinks tonight.” I stared at his lips before they pressed against my neck.
“I’ll make it count, sir.”
He whispered urgently in my ear, “I want to fuck you senseless. Begin to imagine what I will do to you, how I will take you. Listen carefully, by the time you enter the playroom, you better be swollen and soaking fucking wet. That’s necessary because I’ll take you hard the moment you set foot in that beautiful place. Understood?”
From one tumultuous breath to the next, I put my lips to his, searing them ravenously. His lips were ungiving at first, stubbornly cold and taut. Then they started brushing softly against mine, once, twice, and then he went for it. He bit down on my lower lip and dragged it through his teeth. The kiss turned rough and altogether indefinable; we bit and soothed and groaned. It was a collision of desires, of misunderstandings, of frustrated passions. As he forced me to take more of him, a dusky mélange of smoke and acrid tobacco entered my mouth when his tongue invaded it. The taste caught in my throat and clawed all the way down.
His tongue slipped from my mouth and flickered against my ear, increasing the current running along my spine. “I’d tell you to run from me, but then I’d catch you. It’s of no use.” When he finally pressed a kiss to my temple, I was certain he could feel the familiar pulse of blood rushing through the vein there. “You’ve been very, very bad, Elena.” Cold, cruel fingers dug into my hair, a few strands snapping as he established his grip. “Would you like to see what I do to bad girls?”
*
“Come to me.” He extended a hand. I didn’t move and his voice lowered when he spoke again. “And beg.”
I shook my head.
His eyes held mine captive. “I need your submission.”
“I won’t beg.”
He moved toward his objective, toward the object of his obsession. “Oh, you’ll beg, my little slut.”
His viselike grip around my wrists was painful. I struggled to free myself. When he abruptly released me, I lost my balance, clutching at his shoulders for support. I felt him finger the sash of my robe. Felt him slipping it down my body. He slapped my hands
away as I tried to stop him from dragging down my panties.
His fingers captured a nipple and squeezed, making me bend over backward, wordlessly offering more. Moans of pleasure swirled in my mouth as his thumb stroked one nipple into pebbled hardness and then shifted to give the other nipple equal attention. I sunk both hands into his hair and clung to the thick mass while my moans grew more insistent.
“No, no pleasure. I’ve changed my mind. No fucking. Domestic discipline first. We must teach you to be good.”
We? Who is we? He and his alter ego?
Over the arm of the Highgrove chesterfield sofa I went. Without politeness, he pressed my face into the cool, buttoned leather of the seat cushion.
“Move and you’ll regret it,” he stated, releasing my neck. “You’re going to enjoy bettering yourself for me. Can’t say fairer than that for an insolent little thing like you, can we?”
“I haven’t done anything—,”
“Shut up!” Grabbing my hand, he placed it on his groin and thrust his hard-on into my palm. “Open your mouth again and I’ll put this in it. You can even try to bite my dick if you want to familiarize yourself with caning.”
I listened.
I knew he was surveying evil implements, joyously, considering each one with due care. It wasn’t until I heard a sharp cut of air and a thick, resounding fwap that I realized what he’d chosen. A paddle.
“Alex?” My body tensed in apprehension.
“Yes, dear?” He sounded positively giddy.
“Six?” I tucked my arms in my chest and clasped my hands together because I knew I’d instinctively try to shield my behind. Six roundish welts on the ass were nothing compared to a caned behind. “Why six?”
“It’s quite simple. Six because I touched you when you were sixteen, but I only made you come when you were twenty-two.”
“Duh.” A set of giggles tore out of me, getting lost in the upholstery.
His hand roamed over my behind, stroking up and down the crevice of my ass. The first infliction came fast, a swish and smack that brought with it a sharp sensation of arousal, and I cried out with the sheer intensity of pain. It radiated tingling sensations that resonated between my legs, centering right where the wetness seeped out of me. Five additional blows followed, striking into a canter, in equal measure, swapping between a hard slap and a caress. Not unbearable, the pain was pleasurable, a warm feeling spreading throughout my body.